


Blister-Burn

by mx1_jawbreaker



Category: Original Work
Genre: (does it technically count if you eat meat of the animal you tf into), (mild), Animal Transformation, Cannibalism, Dragons, Growth, Messy eating, Shapeshifting, Strangulation, TF, Transformation, clothing restriction, fantasy magic, it's all gross, magical tranformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mx1_jawbreaker/pseuds/mx1_jawbreaker
Summary: Lurching forward, Finn took two steps toward the bounty before white-hot pain shot through his legs, sending him sprawling onto his hands and knees.Rolling onto his side, Finn looked back to see that his armor was digging in around his joints like metal tourniquets. His thighs and calves were distended, swollen up to easily three times the size that they’d originally been — the metal armor had begun to warp, pushed out by the extreme pressure as the leather straps continued to firmly hold them in place.Finn belongs toapolymorphous.
Kudos: 30





	Blister-Burn

The edge of Finn’s sword dragged through the dirt as he finally emerged from the cave. Fresh viscera coated his armor — sections of the metal had been blackened and warped out of shape, and his breastplate bore a large dent in the center. Steam rolled off of him in waves, rising up into the air as hot, arterial blood began to cool. His left gauntlet had been ripped away, revealing a mess of blood-caked bandages. 

Ripping off his helmet, Finn let it drop to the ground as he doubled over and let out a bone rattling cough. Spit flecked from his mouth as he struggled to take in breaths of clean air. Black soot streaked his face and hair, musing his bangs upwards into a dingy gray mess. 

Shuddering, Finn leaned against the craggy wall and raised a one hand to shield his eyes. The sun was just beginning to crest over the mountain range. Orange-yellow light reflected off the undisturbed snowdrifts, burning away the morning fog. On the horizon, heavy gray clouds were beginning to gather — promising heavy snow later in the day. 

Nothing moved. There were no signs of life outside of Finn’s own. From his vantage point, Finn saw that his temporary encampment still stood by the lake’s edge — untouched, though the tarps were now covered in a thin layer of frost. The whole scene seemed more apt for a serene painting, not the aftermath of a massacre.

White vapor billowed out of Finn’s mouth as he sighed. As beautiful as the sight was, the blood was beginning to cool underneath his clothes. The adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, and Finn could feel his wounds starting to catch up with him. The idea of a warm fire and a hot meal pushed him forward.

Still coughing, Finn began the long trek down the side of the mountain. Blood streamed freely from the sack slung over his shoulder, marking his path back to the dragon’s lair with a bright crimson line. 

——— 

The fire jumped as Finn flipped his steak. Blood and grease splattered out of the pan, forcing Finn to lean away from the heat as flames eagerly surged toward his face. It was purely reflexive — even with the fire kissing his cheeks, Finn only registered it as a cool breeze. 

The smell of his own burning skin mixed with the odd, peppery smell of roasting dragon. Welts covered the back of his hand from where he had pressed it against the hot skillet — he needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t freezing to death. 

Since exiting the cave, Finn couldn’t feel any warmth. 

The sun had reached its highest point in the sky, but a frigid cold had stubbornly settled itself in Finn’s bones. Blankets were layered over his shoulders and across his lap. Both of his water skins had been filled with boiling water and stuffed in the sides of his boots, but Finn continued to shiver. He’d given up on trying to remove his armor — his fingers had begun to lock up, leaving him with half-undone straps hanging from his body. 

Finn’s hands trembled as he speared the streak on the end of his knife, gracelessly transferring it to a plate. The meat had barely been touched by the fire — enough to warm it, but not so much that the color had changed beyond a deep purple sear. Dark maroon blood welled up around the knife, spilling onto the snow as Finn fumbled. 

The knife refused to cooperate with him — it skittered across the metal plate, slicing at the meat unevenly. A curse slipped out from between Finn’s tightly clenched teeth. Reaching over, Finn grabbed his dominant wrist in his other hand, willing it to stay steady as he sawed. 

_If he could get something to eat, this would pass._

_Maybe it was all from exhaustion._

_He was just hungry._

A red haze settled over Finn’s vision. Discarding the offending knife, he grabbed at the steaming meat with his bare hands. Blood and grease ran down his forearms in thick rivulets, leaving blistered flesh behind. Lifting the mass up to his mouth, Finn bit down with the fervor of a starving man. 

The meat practically burst apart in his mouth. It separated easily underneath his incisors, pulling apart with just a little force from his tongue. He didn’t even need to chew — whole chunks disappeared in seconds. 

Tipping his chin back, Finn ripped another morself free, swallowing it in the same motion. 

Black pepper and sulfur overwhelmed his senses — sharp and distinctive. It smelled like the inside of the dragon’s nest, but concentrated and running down Finn’s throat. Voraciously, he tore at the meat again. His teeth nicked at his palm — the salty-sweet taste of his own blood mixing in his mouth. 

Without pausing, Finn swallowed the last mouthful of meat, licking grease and two different flavors of blood from his hand. Warmth bloomed in his stomach, heating him from the inside out as it chased away the cold and gave him energy like he’d never felt before. 

Sucking the last bit of fat from underneath his fingernails, Finn swung his head toward the bloodsoaked sack. The top had been left slightly undone, falling open so that Finn could glimpse the ruby red glint of raw meat and organs inside. The air around the bag shimmered with iridescent colors, drawing him in. 

A dull roar filled his ears. Lurching forward, Finn took two steps toward the bounty before white-hot pain shot through his legs, sending him sprawling onto his hands and knees. For a moment, he was paralyzed as his whole body seized up in agony. His heart skipped erratically. Blood pulsed behind his eyes as the ground continued to tip underneath him, and he fought to orient himself. 

Rolling onto his side, Finn looked back to see that his armor was digging in around his joints like metal tourniquets. His thighs and calves were distended, swollen up to easily three times the size that they’d originally been — the metal armor had begun to warp, pushed out by the extreme pressure as the leather straps continued to firmly hold them in place. His leather boots bulged oddly, sending pain shooting up the back of Finn’s legs as he tried to shift them. 

The sickly sour smell of meat pulled him away again. He didn’t care about the pain right now — the discomfort working its way up his back and spine was nothing more than a slight annoyance compared to the all-encompassing sense of hunger. The warmth in his stomach had turned into a steady burn that worked its way through his body. 

Crawling forward, Finn dug his claws into the frozen dirt. Pitch black and serrated like bone saws, Finn’s hands sank through the ground without resistance as he dragged his bloated lower half along. His legs twitched feebly — the steel buckles holding the leather restraints closed began to groan, threatening to rip apart. 

The stiffness in Finn’s back mounted, creeping from his hips up to his shoulder blades until it was impossible for him to raise his body off of the ground and drag himself any further. The sack was just beyond his reach — he could see the grease and blood tainting the snow around it. With a frustrated snarl, Finn attempted to lunge forward and close the last few feet. 

Fabric and leather ripped apart with a series of sharp pops — steel buckles finally snapping and shooting off into the woods. The blunted edge of Finn’s breastplate caught him underneath the jugular, sharply cutting into his windpipe. Wheezing, Finn writhed breathlessly on the ground, realizing for the first time that he could now feel the cold snow against his bare legs — the sharp stinging cold helped clear his mind slightly. 

Coughing, Finn contorted himself to look over his shoulder. Parts of his armor lay in the snow, deformed and warped. His pants hung in tatters, revealing bright white scales pushing up from underneath. His shoes had been similarly shredded — onyx black talons drove deep grooves into the dirt as Finn shifted his body. 

Rationality finally broke through Finn’s clouded thoughts, and the panic he’d been suppressing threatened to overwhelm him — _this is wrong. this couldn’t be happening. it couldn’t be real_ — but as he tried to move away from the horror, Finn’s new body responded to each twitch and shudder. 

With a sound like wet, tearing paper, the muscles in Finn’s back unclenched and a new limb broke free from underneath Finn’s skin. It flopped over the back of his legs, flicking from side to side as Finn let out a horrified moan. The tail was as wide as both of his arms held together, with small barbs running down its full length — as Finn watched, the tail began to slowly fill itself out, growing larger and heavier with each second.

Crying out in distress, Finn was surprised to hear that his voice had taken on a distinctly inhuman keen. It warbled and pitched oddly, resonating deeper in his chest than his human voice ever had. Something in the back of his throat shifted and he choked as he fought to say something — anything — but all that came out was a series of stumbling syllables and chittering sounds. 

Black spots swam in Finn’s vision as he realized how much pressure was on his chest — the heat working through his body had mounted into a bonfire. Struggling to take another full breath, Finn felt his ribs let out a series of staccato pops. Vertebrae shifted through his back and neck, popping out of place and forcing Finn flat against the ground as he wordlessly cried out in pain. 

He was utterly helpless as his muscles strained against the confines of his breastplate. The straps were high on his shoulders, secured with locking brace rather than the simple buckles across his legs. With a metallic _pop_ , the metal warped outwards, bulging as another tremor ripped through Finn’s body — the pressure increased, and as Finn attempted to suck in a last breathful of air, he found that his lungs had been crushed flat.

Finn’s vision began to tunnel. His nostrils flared, new tail whipping against his legs as he struggled against his inevitable fate — gradually, his motions began to weaken. There wasn’t anything left for him to do— there wasn’t anything he could do.

_CRRRRACK._

The breastplate burst apart, metal shrapnel embedding itself into the trunks of nearby trees as the back section was torn open. Two leathery wings flopped out from the confines — bones twisting into place with cacophony of crepitus. The wings glittered wetly in the sunlight, taking on a dull pink hue as they dried. They flapped, twitching with a life of their own as Finn took in a breath of frigid air.

Fresh snow began to fall, collecting on top of Finn’s prone form. Smoke rose up from the dying fire — red embers winking out as flakes began to cover the camp in a thick layer of white. 

His eyes cracked open into thin lines, squinting across the bright expanse of snow. Iridescent shimmers reflected off of the ice — too many new colors for him to put names to — causing his slit pupils to contract reflexively. 

A forked tongue flicked out of Finn’s mouth, lapping at a smidgen of wet blood on his cheek. The fire in his stomach still burned, warming him from the inside out. He shifted, snow falling off of his back as he slowly lumbered to his feet — his tail dragged through the drifts, pushing snow over the fire with a quiet hiss. 

All was quiet and still, aside from him.

**Author's Note:**

> happy (belated) valentines day. thank you to [REDACTED] for commissioning this for [apolymorphous](https://twitter.com/apolymorphous). i hope that it warms your heart for many nights to come. 
> 
> if you want personal porn for your valentine (or yourself), then hit me up through twitter @[mx1_jawbreaker ](https://twitter.com/mx1_jawbreaker). or just enjoy the content.


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